Let it be Me
by mellarkberries
Summary: Glimpses into Katniss' thoughts and the envy that troubles her after Peeta's hijacking. Written as part of Prompts in Panem Round 4 Day 7 (Envy)


Warnings: Some adult language. Torture alluded to. Just a tad bit T right at the end.

—

Regrets. Anger. Envy. These consume me every night.

I thought no terror could compare with the nightmares that plagued me after the first games or the sunken loneliness I felt without Peeta's words, body and lips near mine; however, the thoughts that race through my mind these nights are worse. Not only do I get no sleep, but I now mourn the life I'll never have and the words I've never said.

I dream every night about Johanna's words, about how she could hear Peeta's screams. I'm overcome not with sadness, but with anger, envy, regrets and shame. It should have been me taken by the capitol. It should have been me trying to comfort Peeta at night in his cell. I could do nothing in 13 except touch a TV screen thousands of miles away from him and hope he could feel my gentle whispers telling him that it would be ok, but instead of being with him, I was here going on trips to the woods, being near my family unscathed, untouched. Peeta doesn't know that my heart is completely broken without him.

It should have been me.

It should have been me who lightly touched the wall separating our cells, letting him know that I was there until the end. It would have been like the games again. We could have comforted each other and I … I would have risked my life for him, once again trying to save him. Maybe I could have taunted the guards, persuaded them to beat me, torture me, even offered myself to them. Anything to save Peeta, to give him a chance, but no I was here; it's irrational and perhaps ungrateful of me, but I hate everyone for saving me. They should have left me to be captured, to be tortured alongside him, to get through or die together, to protect him. Because that's what my life is about, protecting Peeta and I've failed him. Now Peeta's gone. My life … gone.

I hate Johanna the most. I will forever envy her chances to talk to Peeta during their captivity, to comfort him. She was probably selfish in those cells, looking for ways to preserve her own survival. I would have tried everything to save him from a lashing, to erase his tears, to sing him to sleep, to make him feel joy, to make him smile, to make him laugh, to give him hope. I would have taken that time to finally tell him know how I feel. These are regrets that will forever haunt me, tear me apart until my life ends. I would have told him. I would have repeated what was real. Told him how much I cared.

It should have been me.

—-

My bed. My rotten, dark, empty bed which I've become quite acquainted with for months now. It's reeks of my tattered, sweat stained clothes, my knotted hair and my tears.

I've finally left this behind. It's been a week since I've started hunting and trying to fill my time either by going into town or talking to Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. It's also been a week since Peeta's been back to 12.

I still don't sleep, but not because of nightmares; instead I think about all the different ways I could become closer to Peeta again and the many things he could be doing.

We haven't seen each other since the day he planted the primroses, but I think of him everyday. I stare out of my window in hopes to see his sturdy frame walking towards my door. Walking towards something beginning, something new, but he doesn't and so every night I think of ways that I could walk over there and somehow tell him everything I feel in one look, one word. I think about every scenario that can lead him to me.

Part of me wishes that I could do something foolish so that there was a reason Peeta would come see me. It was him who put me in bed when I passed out after screaming and crying for hours lamenting my poor sister's death. He's protecting me still. Maybe that's the only the way to get him here, to bring him closer to me. I think of the eternally drunken Haymitch who gets to see him daily. Ugh! That bastard! He doesn't even deserve it. I spy, every single day, Peeta bringing Haymitch food. He seems to stay there for hours everyday. What do I have to do around here to get Peeta to notice me? Should I down a bottle of white liquor like our old mentor? Maybe then he'd come over.

I know I'm being ridiculous with this jealousy, but I can't help it. I wish I didn't have such a complicated past with Peeta, one fill„ ed with so much pain. Perhaps Peeta still thinks I'm a mutt or he's confused about what's real or not real. What wouldn't I give to be Haymitch or Thom or Greasy Sae or anyone so that I could know Peeta doesn't hate me?

Sometimes I wish I was a stranger who could walk up to Peeta and tell him how I appreciate his warm smile, how completely lost I get when the light gets reflected in his eyelashes and in return Peeta would get to know me. Never doubt my intentions. Never think I'm a monster. He would be open and trusting. Peeta would allow me to get to know him the way he is now. He would offer to bake for me. I'd fall in love with his cheese buns. I'd take him to the lake. He'd take me out. Paint the sunset for me. And we could be happy.

Maybe he would even learn to love me. All of this could happen, if only I were a stranger to him.

Even the damn cat sees Peeta more than I do. As if I didn't hate that cat enough already, now I envy him too!

I hate everyone in this town right now because they all get a glimpse into Peeta's world. They don't have to worry about him or hope that maybe just maybe the next day would result in looking into his eyes. They don't have to live wondering, hoping, and waiting for him to come around. Because Peeta has let other people into his life, but not me.

Not me.

—

It's now been two weeks since Peeta has arrived to 12 and I still haven't seen him since that first day. It's already 8am and I can smell Greasy Sae's daily breakfast. My feet drag me downstairs for the sake of showing gratitude.

My eyes are barely open when I see him. He looks stronger than even two weeks ago, but sleep deprived. I quickly wonder what keeps him up at night. I wonder if he thinks of me, wishes we could spend our nights wrapped together around each other the way we did on the train, the way I wish we would. Our eyes meet and my heart feels full because Peeta's eyes are as blue as the day he threw me the bread. They sparkle like the night sky and if no one knew any better, they would think Peeta had never been hijacked, never suffered through the loss, pain and heartache of the Games and the Rebellion. His eyes alone give me a sense of hope. Maybe Peeta is better. Maybe he's here for me. Maybe there's a life I can live after all.

I realize that I haven't said a word, completely lost in my thoughts. Peeta finally nervously speaks up.

"Hi. I made some bread. I thought I'd come over and share some," he continues clearly afraid that I'll shun him and turn him away, "And maybe, if you'd like, we could all have breakfast together."

I don't hesitate in responding.

"I'd like that."

It feels as though the sun is right in the room basking down on me as I feel deep warmth cover every inch of my skin. The sensation is only heightened when Peeta smiles and confirms what my heart has been yearning for, that me and Peeta can grow together again, that maybe there's a future for us after all. That maybe he'll let me back into his world the way I'm finally ready to let him into mine.

—

Peeta comes everyday for breakfast after that. Eventually he joins me for dinner too. We begin working on a book to remember all the loved ones we've lost. Peeta and I are together for most of each day when he's not baking and I'm not hunting. These have been the best days, full of laughter, joy, warm embraces and finally kisses. So many kisses.

I lay here on my bed so differently then a few months ago. I lay here with anticipation and excitement as Peeta's lips glide down my neck and down to my collarbone. I know Peeta's lips and touches are only for me. As Peeta enters my body and lavishes my skin and lips with fiery kisses, I know that this is only for me. I know that his loving whispers and quivering moans are just for me. And when he tells me he loves every night, I know that it's just for me.

Just for me.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, anonalece, for all her help and beta work and for always being so supportive! :)


End file.
